


Lunch Break

by moon_opals



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Comfort Food, F/M, Fluff, Freeform, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Meet-Cute, Their Love of Food Brings Them Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 02:28:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18791152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_opals/pseuds/moon_opals
Summary: In the aftermath of Scrooge McDuck's "revival," Zan Owlson takes a much needed lunch break and in the process makes a new friend.





	Lunch Break

Zan glanced at the headline on her phone screen.

_**Scrooge McDuck fakes death and insanity! Has returned as richest duck in the world! Flintheart Glomgold remains insane and diabolical!** _

Another day. Another terrible day. It hadn’t started off so terrible, though it begun with a funeral.

With one last glare, she shoved her phone in her skirt pocket and directed her attention to the food display. She was content staring at the offered delicacies. It was well past lunch, and the line had dwindled to its final seven people. She was third in line. Muffins. Danishes. Breakfast sandwiches. Her stomach squeezed in discontent. She had staved off hunger for long enough, but she had no idea what she wanted to eat.

She wasn’t in the mood for a breakfast lunch, though her pumpkin spice frappuccino was at the top of her head. She needed the caffeine. As she sidestepped towards the register, she realized she wanted a hearty lunch; the sort of lunch that would put her mind at ease and would test her stomach capacity. As a phone’s snapshot click sounded to her right and the public’s whispers intensified around her, she accepted this was a meal hard earned.

“I’d like a chicken burrito with extra sauce, extra sour cream and a side of fried onions and a steak salad and...hmmm,” came a deliberate pause, “and a large Pep and chips and guacamole!”

Zan raised her head and blinked curiously. The order was one of the longest she’d ever seen, and she was an unfortunate witness to one of Glomgold’s restaurant orders. And a shameful part of her expected her patron neighbor to hulk-like, but when she glanced in his direction, taking her eyes off the food displays, she saw that he was the opposite Tall. Well built. With hair on the lighter side of red. He tapped his extended beak in contemplation, considering his additional options.

“I think that’ll do it,” he pulled out a gold credit card. “And add a kid’s meal too. Dewey has to try the guacamole.”

She was confused and a little impressed. She raised her head to the above screen and read the above menu. It was vast and seemed endless.

“I don’t know how you did it,” she said. “Sir, how do you know what you want? This is an obscene food selection. There’s so much.”

The man gave the cashier his card and turned downward. His eyes were dark but warm, soft even despite the casual nature of their meeting. “What I’ve learned is that you gotta sift through all the selections,” he explained, “gotta try everything at least once. There are many burritos waiting to be loved.”

“I see.” Her skepticism was apparent, but his words were food for thought. “What do you suggest?”

“Me?”

“Yeah,” she crossed her arms, “I’m not having the best day, and I don’t know what comfort food is going to sustain me until I make it home tonight.”

“Hmm,” he squinted. “Are you a beginner?”

“A beginner?” She laughed, “I’ve tried a burrito here and there, but I suppose, yes, I am a beginner burrito consumer.”

He grinned, and her chest rattled. She was surprised at this sensation, this unexpected turn of events, but she dismissed it quickly and focused on his words.

“We’re going to start you soft, easy,” he explained. “Get this lady a burrito! Chicken! Black beans! Cheese! Sauce! And…,” he turned to her and asked, “would you like sauce?”

“I’d like sauce, yes, thank you.”

“And sauce!”

Zan reached for her wallet. He shook his head, raising a hand to stop her.

“No,” he said. “This is to be an experience. You must embrace the burrito.”

“Really? I’m just paying for my burrito.”

“Don’t worry! It’s a company card.”

“I don’t think that’s how company cards work.”

He blinked and glanced at the gold plated card. “Louie said it does, and he’s pretty smart,” he shrugged. “I’m sure Mr. McDee won’t mind.”

“Mr. McDee?”

But it was too late. He charged a second order on the card and appeared satisfied, more than happy to offer another the blessing of the burrito. Zan held her platinum plated card and shook her head, more baffled than amazed.

“I’d like a pumpkin spice frappuccino to go with it.”

* * *

Launchpad was interesting if simple. There didn’t seem to be any complexity to his character. His positivity was contagious. She felt it surge throughout her body. What had started as a terrible day had eased into something less terrible.

“I can’t believe it,” she chewed with her mouth half-full. “You’ve crashed that many times, and you’re not dead? You didn’t die? You haven’t been injured?”

“Nope,” he drank his soda. “A few concussions here and there but nothing permanent.”

“A concussion can lead to permanent neurological problems, Launchpad,” Zan noted, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. He shrugged his shoulders and said that’s what came with the job. He didn’t want any other job than the one he already had.

“It’s a dream, really,” he sighed. “It isn’t like any other job that I’ve ever had. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

Zan chewed thoughtfully and sunk her teeth for another bite. The gooey mush heightened her spirits, but the longer she stayed, the more she wondered. They were seated near the windows where a crowded sidewalk greeted them. She stared, swallowed, and sighed, wondering what stepped she missed or neglected.

“You can’t imagine,” she mused. “Hm...it’s all I can do now.” She put her half-finished burrito on the table as her frown deepened. “It’s all I’m allowed to do.”

He crumbled a handful of chips over his burritos and tore it down in two bites. “Why?” She knew she ought to have been embarrassed at the sight of chip crumbs dotting his cheeks and lower beak. But she laughed instead, more at his obliviousness than his appearance.

“I visualized what my future was going to be like, for as long as I can remember,” she sighed, sadly. “When I got out of that place I was going to make this world a better place. I was going to give back. And I did. I am doing good, but it isn’t...enough. And with,” she inhaled, sharply. Keeping calm had become a much harder these day. “With my co-CEO, things have gotten complicated. My reputation. My work. It’s going all down the drain.”

She was aware nothing in life was ever guaranteed. Hard work was an essential requirement of surviving in the world, and with it came numerous lessons she held close to her one, one of which being hard work was useless when relied on its own. Ingenuity, hard work, and luck was a small fraction to success, in her opinion. It pained her to look at everything she had done and hadn’t done, to realize it culminated to falling victim to one man’s stupidity and vindictiveness.

“You’re still here aren’t you?”

She hadn’t realize she was staring at her hands, and raised her head. Her wide eyes widened, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to think about what it’s like with Glomgold,” he chewed and swallowed, “but you’re the strongest person ever to work with him, or try to. Mr. McDee lasts five seconds before they’re making bets.”

“Really?”

“Yep!” His smile mindlessly beguiled her with its charm and warmth. “You’re way smarter than Glomgold, and your charity is still like super popular isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but it’s only a matter of time before everything else -,”

“Take it as it comes.”

“Launchpad, this is a business, not a -,” she stopped short. It couldn’t be that easy. Take it as it comes. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but she mulled instead. She sat there and evaluated her options, position, and what she could do. She certainly knew Mr. Glomgold took it as it came, though it took him a year to discover it had arrived at all.

“Huh.”

He burped and covered his mouth instantly, cheeks red under the chips’ crust. “Sorry about that,” he grinned, sheepishly. “Did you get it sorted out.”

“No.” She dabbed her beak and stood, “But I think I’m on the right track, thank you, Mr. -,”

He hurried to stand and extended his hand. “McQuack ma’am,” his firm grip tickled her palm. “Launchpad McQuack. Pilot. Chauffeur. Mostly pilot these days.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“It is.”

“Well,” she wrapped up her half-eaten burrito and pumpkin spice frappuccino. “This was a surprisingly productive conversation, Mr. McQuack.” Her smile was free of stress and strife, “Thank you.”

“Any time, and you can call me Launchpad. Or LP. Or -,”

“Sure, Launchpad.”

It did not take her long realize her mistake. She was at her office door, about to open when her stomach plummeted. Her gaze locked on the glass reflection, and disappointment coolled her feathers. Like every other time disappointment hammered on her senses, she centered her concentration on her work. The investors would arrive tomorrow morning at 10:00 a.m. There was much work to do by time she left for the night.

She disregarded the last remnants of sunny warmth in her chest. Insane. Infantaile. Evil. It was time to move forward. She placed her meal on the middle of her desk, and she resumed her work in respectable fashion, having sent Mr. Glomgold on an errand to keep him occupied for the next seven hours. She answered calls, reviewed financial documents, and arranged television interviews. All this backed her effort in keeping her personal phone in her desk drawer.

But her stomach growled after thirty minutes, more than a little peeved at her dainty eating habits. “Fine,” she frowned, reaching for her unfinished lunch. “I’ll order take out for dinner.”

She was comfortable at her desk, able to watch the world below from her glass tower, and as she unrolled the wrapping and inhaled the mildly warm aroma, a mental map of an improved world appeared in her mind’s eye. She could do that. She was going to do that. She beat down into the burrito, and she hummed. Comfort food was accurately described, but as she munched on her meal, wayward thoughts pushing her further from her task, she noticed something on the wrapper.

Written in black ink, she thought this was a message for identification purposes. Restaurants were known to do it from time to time. But she unwrapped the burrito further and saw an entire paragraph scribbled on the wrapper’s inside. The handwriting was somewhat illegible due to sauce, grease, and other food excrements, but she’d always been good at context clues.

“I’d lurbed...get to know...you...better…maahz number is….Launchpad,” she read through squinted eyes, and at the end of the paragraph was a number list. She read the bunched numbers aloud, and when the last number echoed on the walls, raised her head, confusion drawn on her face.

It didn’t her long to understand. Her eyebrows rose with comprehension, and a small smile appeared. She retrieved her phone out of the desk drawer and dialed.

“Hello? Yeah, yeah, I got your message. Pretty clever. How did you sneak it in?” She swiveled in her chair, “No, none of the ink got into my burrito, and if it did, I doubt it’s toxic.” She ignored her voice’s unusual pitch.

“What?” She chuckled, “You’re crashing? I should look through my window?”

She did as instructed and saw the infamous Sunchaser falling down towards the bridge that connected the Money Bin island to the city. A roar and breaking metal slammed into her ear, and she flew to the window, eyes wide and horrified. Smoke simmered to the sky.

“Launchpad,” she shouted. “Are you okay?”

“Yep!” He coughed and exhaled, “Just a minor scrape. All is well. So what about Friday?”

“Friday what?”

“Friday,” he repeated. “There’s the International Burrito Festival, and I’d love if you came! It’s the best way to start your path into the delicious world of the burrito.”

“Oh.” He was serious. There was no doubt. “You want me to join you,” she pushed back her hair.

“If you have time,” he added with a grunt, most likely escaping the damage he and his plane had caused. “I understand you're busy.”

“No!” She paced, arm tucked under her elbow, “I am busy, but not too busy for this. It sounds fun, and who doesn’t love a good burrito?”

“Oh don’t worry, there’s tons of burritos to find there.”

Another explosion darkened the skies surrounding the Money Bin. Zan jumped. "Launchpad," she asked. "Are you dead?

"Nope!" He laughed, "Whoa, I'm glad I avoided the water." She heard shouts in the background, and Launchpad inhaled sharply. "Hi Mr. McDee," he said. "Who am I talking to? Nobody of immediate importance."

Against her better judgment, "I'll text you, okay?"

"Sure! No, wait, no, not you Mr. McDee." He sighed, "Yes, Mr. McDee." 

"I'll see you soon."

She ended the call, too shocked to fully grasp what happened. She stared at her phone, and then out the window. “This is absolutely crazy,” she whispered. What did she agree to? Why did she agree to it? "He was very nice," she mused, and brought her burrito to her beak. "And he made me laugh."

"Guess crazy isn't too crazy," she plopped back into her chair, chewing as she mused. "Besides, worse things have happened."

**Author's Note:**

> I feel really bad for Zan in 'The 87 Cent Solution.' She's doing her best. She's trying to do good in the world with her money and privilege. And she has to babysit Glomgold. Look what he does.
> 
> She deserves nice, healthy people in her life, and Launchpad is both. As friend, as lover, everyone needs a Launchpad in their life.


End file.
